Hate Mail
by Miss Haps
Summary: TxG "What's wrong?" "I wrote hate mail to Troy B-Bolton." "What? Did he read it?" "No." "Then why are you moping?" "Because I wanted him to read it."; when Gabriella realizes she needs to stick up for herself, she never realized it would be this hard...


**June, 2010. **

**Man, this was story was written almost two years ago. Like, it's so 2010, and this is so two thousand and _then_. Lame much? Okay.**

** And after painfully reading through it, I've decided to edit it. Just because I've never actually been happy with this oneshot. If any of you feel like the original ending was way cooler. I'm deeply sorry. I wrote this when I was still a kid, so, I have the right to argue with you. However, I must warn you, it's still terrible cliche. Brace yourself. **

**This was meant to ease my soul.  
**

**Disclaimer-Nothing is really mine.  
**

* * *

I wondered about people as I sat in the library reading the same sentence for the fifth time. The word "bully" seemed so childish for a high school student. When I imagined a bully, I imagined one of those black T-shirt wearing kids that harassed smaller children on the school playground and looked too big to be in their grade. But I guess if I were in the same situation as a victimized third grader, it'd probably still feel as scary as it would be now. A bully is still a bully.

Toying with the small pencil case that I borrowed from Taylor earlier, I frowned, feeling another damp wad of paper hit my back.

I assumed I was among the many people at school who were bullied. Our school board refused to talk about the problem, I bitterly thought. Only because they felt that a _teeny_ little behavior problem in our school is a blemish compared to some _much_ more important issues like, I don't know, _basket ball uniforms. _So our administration has merely shook a finger at people, while the students behind them are silenced with bruises underneath their clothes, slipping grades, and slouched postures. Are there different subcategories for being bullied? Did I not belong in them because no one has ever actually touched me? I pondered while fingering the corner of my notebook page.

I suppose there are people who've gone through much worse harassment than I could ever admit to experiencing. I've never been punched before, that's for sure. I stretched my neck and flipped to the next page of my text book. Then why was it that I always felt like falling into a hole just so I wouldn't have to get out of bed in the morning?

Tapping my fingers irritatedly, I tried my hardest not to mind the constant wads of papers and the occasional broken pencil hitting my back.

I sighed, slowly turning around, "Could you please stop?"

Behind me, a group of boys ignorantly played innocent. The farthest left to their study table sat Troy Bolton, who was stupidly wearing a smug grin while glancing over his own text book just to make sure I was still looking.

Sadly enough, Troy's parents were ridiculously close to mine. My mom actually went to college with Troy's mom, where they eventually graduated and decided to pull off getting married to corresponding wedding dates and having children within the same year. Then, the two pairs of newly weds include living next to each other as part of their "big picture", while I grew up in my room for more than two thirds of my life and two different locks on my door. Hm.

However, Troy and I weren't ever quite buddy-buddies like our parents.

My father was an anthropologist, he studied natural science and tried to invent things in order to make life easier. Before, he would most likely work with a group of other scientists at this closed building, but when I first began high school, he left for Ethiopia to study different living arrangements for humanity and how it affected different environments. It wasn't often that I got a call or a letter though. Apparently, it wasn't quite as easy from Africa.

Troy's a weirdo. I'll admit that. I'd barely even notice him whenever he came over to dinner or something, but in some sudden flash of evil, he does all but decide to ever be nice to me.

"Something you said, Montez?" Troy smirked.

I blinked out the tainted memory. "Look...I-I just, want to study before the period ends...um so could you at least...stop, please...?" I stuttered lamely, feeling so useless at that point.

One of Troy's nameless friends scoffed, "Why, what in the world are you talking about Gabriella?"

I mentally rolled my eyes, I felt a bit _too_ mature around them, putting up with these types of people, whereas the same group seems to have everything threaded for themselves and has the world planned out perfectly. I sighed, "I'm serious, I'll put up with it any other time but now..."

Troy snickered, showing off his upper row of teeth, "Montez, you must be so grateful"

I glared, forcing myself not to cry. I knew there were so many other things actually worth crying for, but it's like being tormented is the only thing I've been crying about lately.

Troy smirked, turning to his side to talk with his best friend Chad Danforth. I don't understand why I bothered acting civil towards him, _or_ why he continues to treat me so badly when I barely react.

It was either he had a nasty comment he just _needed_ to make on my appearance, had a prank he just _needed_ to try out on me, or just _needed_ to irk me till no end. I'm like a ridiculous play thing.

It was odd, feeling their presence in the library. It was only Chad, Troy and one of their teammates, but it was still uncomfortable thinking they were staring at the back of my head, going through the millions of possibilities how to mess me up even more.

Squinting, I reread the same sentence, trying to process the text. Then suddenly, the light coming from the small reading light from the library's desk table was blocked, casting a shadow over my book. I groaned,

"What do you want? Really. Enlighten me."

I heard a soft chuckle, "Gabs...chill."

I lifted my head and smiled, "Oh...Hey Tay, what's up"

Taylor Mckessie moved to Albuquerque during our sophomore year and almost immediately, we were best friends. She was the first person I felt I could really open up to. She's one of the few people I could actually have a conversation with without stuttering or inwardly rolling my eyes. But at times, I'd feel so guilty whenever someone would whisper and point at the both of us walking down the hall, knowing for sure that Taylor probably wouldn't be laughed at if she had friends other than me.

Taylor grinned warmly, "You know they're gone right? There's no need to ruin your back by slouching like that," she smiled playfully. I straightened up, not realizing I was hunched over my text book in the first place. Just moments later, her face rid of the soft joking manner it normally held, and you could visibly see her bite the inside of either one of her cheeks. "You really need to say something about it soon. Seriously, Gabi, don't you think you should finally stand up to Troy? Or at least let _me_ stand up to him for you?"

I sighed, "Tay...I know I should...bu-but I just can't...okay? I don't know why...but I can't...and I wouldn't want you to take on my own battles for me because that would make me look even lamer and...and I'll just say something at a better time..."

"And when is that?"

"...Eventually..."

Taylor groaned, shaking her head disapprovingly, "Gabi, I can't stand just watching you get hurt like that anymore."

I didn't reply, instead replaying feeble attempts of justice in the past inside my head—all of them ending up with humiliation and tears.

"Gabs?" I finally looked up, "I heard your dad's finally coming back. It'll be nice actually meeting the man face to face."

I smiled at Taylor, finding her mirroring the same lit expression, "Yeah, I know...it's been so long. He's scheduled to get home the day after tomorrow."

"Good to know, I wanna be there with you."

I gave Taylor a well deserved hug. "Tay, I really feel like an awful friend if I'm ever compared to you."

She laughed light-heartedly, "Nah...you just have to deal with more shit than normal people...But speaking of dealing with shit," she rolled her eyes, "I actually came here to ask whether you still have my pencil case."

I nodded curtly, showing her the sticker-covered purple box. "Yeah, I was kind of hoping you had post-it notes on you. I'm sorta crash studying for my physics exam later today." I smiled sheepishly. "But all I found were some mechanical pencils and your back-up glasses. Do you want them back already?"

She smiled, "Sorry, I thought I had some in their still, guess they ran out." Taylor shrugged. "But I really just need my glasses. My contacts have been killing me, like, _all_ day..."

"Sure, sure," I mocked, handing her the box.

"Thanks Gabs, I'll let you borrow it again later. Right now I need to take my contacts out first, their seriously starting to make me cry."

I nodded, watching her exit the library.

About fifteen minutes later, I still hadn't paid much attention to what I was studying. The font seemed foreign to me, and the small reading light was causing a glare to show up on the thin white pages, making reading even more difficult.

The bell however, just rang, signaling the end of my free period and possibly any chance of passing my physics test. Hastily gathering my materials and turning off the lamp, I made my way out into the halls. Reaching my locker, there was barely any students left in the hallway. Impatiently, I turned the small red dial to my locker when I jumped, hearing someone shriek.

"Quit it!"

Through curiosity, I stupidly left my locker door wide open, following a loud howl of laughter coming from the corridor.

After turning a corner, my mouth hung open and my arms fell limp against my sides. "Taylor!"

My best friend was hunched over the floor, her pencils scattered across the hallway, and desperately searching for her glasses somewhere across the white tiles. A group of about seven people, all no less than twice my size, stood in front of her, snickering as they kicked around her pencils and markers.

"Shit! Ow. OW!"

"Taylor!" Immediately, I pushed the group aside, holding onto my friend as I dropped to my knees on the floor for any way of help. "Are you ok? What happened? Are you alright? Holy shit! Is that blood?"

Sticking out of her palm, small shards of glass stuck out in different areas of her hand. "Gabs! It's okay," she paused, looking up to glare at the appointed people still standing there, then carefully began picking at the glass and pushing aside the broken frames of her glasses. "I just crushed my glasses trying to look for them on the floor, but I'm okay."

"Don't touch it Tay. And what do you mean 'Okay'? What are you talking about? Why were you on the floor? What the hell?" I was waving my arms around, feeling out of place.

"Gabi, look, I was only sticking up for you okay? They were talking shit about you again, and I guess I just back-talked. All they did was push me."

For the first time in the entire conversation, I looked up at the other people still standing before us. "Montez, why is it that you're always in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

I cringed, but keeping my mouth from saying anything to make the situation worse.

"She doesn't speak much does she?" the one standing next to him asked.

Troy smirked. "Nah, she's useless. A waste of space."

Gripping Taylor's arms, I refused to let the remarks anger me. I helped her up, and led her slowly to the nurses office to remove the glass from her hands.

* * *

Barely a day had passed since I had to escort Taylor to the nurse. It was now Friday and my dad was scheduled to come back the day after. My mother was already preparing for his welcoming party and the Boltons were coming over early for dinner tomorrow.

Taylor wasn't in school today. Her mom took her to the hospital to stitch up her hand, and she didn't expect Taylor to be able to attend my dad's welcoming party.

I'd never felt as angry as I did after the incident. Taylor had stuck up for me and she just got hurt in the process. It was different this way; rather than getting hurt, I watched someone else get hurt. I couldn't understand how people could like looking at that. I felt stupid and weak for not doing anything sooner. I shouldn't have waited for someone to kick me into doing something.

I flinched remembering Troy's face. Why did he let it happen?

Ripping a sheet out of my science notebook I clutched onto my number two pencil and began to press down hard onto the paper, wearing out the lead-

_I hope you're happy with yourself! How dare you even create a new level of inconsiderate!  
I honestly don't know how you do it! How you _get away_ with it! How you can _stand_ yourself knowing what type of stuff you do!  
Do you realize that your stupider than you think? Have you noticed that our school has CAMERAS in the halls? That there's a possibility  
that Mr. Matsui, our principal, is watching what happened yesterday at this moment, and realized that Taylor LIED for your benefit?  
But guess what? Our school's almost as stupid as you for not bringing the subject up EVER after all the incidents where you deliberately  
tried to trip me in the fucking hallway! And yes! I SAID A BAD WORD! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?  
You're overly cocky, selfish and rude! I honestly don't understand what girls see in you! It can't be your freaking face either,  
because whenever I look at it, all **I see is a big FAT meanie pants! And YES I KNOW I COULD HAVE USED SO MANY  
OTHER POSSIBLE NAMES BUT I'M TOO PISSED OFF AT YOU TO THINK LOGICALLY! **__**AND-**_

Inhaling through my nose, I growled, staring at the hole I made through the paper and the now broken pencil. Then, rummaging through my school bag, I grabbed a pen.

_And your hair! Whatever shade of brown or blond that people think it is, a billion of other guys have the same hair style. Its shaggy. BIG WHOOP! And I have no clue what people obsess about your eyes for! They're blue. So is a lot of my clothing. BUT NO LOSER  
EVER COMES UP TO ME AND CALL MY OUTFIT DREAMY! I'D HONESTLY LIKE TO SMACK YOU UPSIDE THE HEAD  
SO HARD THAT THOSE SO CALL "WONDERFUL" BLUE EYES  
OF YOURS FLING OUT OF THEIR SOCKETS!  
What have I done to you that has caused you to treat me so badly? I. Barely. Talk. TO YOU!  
Go die in a hole! People will get over it! I know they will! Some longer than others but at least I and a number of many other people  
you enjoy hurting won't have a problem at all!  
I mean SERIOUSLY! Are you desperate for attention? Are you bipolar? MENTAL?  
I've never met anyone else who reacts with no reason!  
But guess what Mr. Big-Shot! **I. Don't. Give. A. Shit. Anymore!  
**So why don't you just fuck yourself and get on with your pathetic life!_

Throwing the pen across the room, satisfied with my terrible grammar and scribbly handwriting, I folded the sheet of paper into fours and scribbled "_To Troy"_ and a large frowny face on the back. Then, forcing myself off the floor, I kicked off my shoes and jumped onto my bed in my jeans and a sweatshirt, and proceeded to scream into my pillow until I fell asleep.

* * *

The morning after I actually felt somewhat better, though not satisfied—I felt better. However, I wasn't sure about my mother; she was anxious and it didn't look like she got much sleep last night.

The Boltons and a few of my dad's friends already arrived. They were chatting amongst themselves in the living room whilst I sat awkwardly on the recliner. My mom told me to stay put.

Reaching into my jean pocket, I smirked, catching a quick glimpse of Troy who was sitting beside his parents on the couch. I kept the note with me as much as possible. For some reason, I felt the obsessive need to risk Troy actually reading it.

My father was coming home; it shook me a bit. My mom cooked all his favorites for lunch and everyone had bought him "Welcome Back" presents.

Sighing, I pulled out the folded piece of paper halfway out of my pocket, making it completely visible from where it was.

Looking around the room, I hoped that Troy would actually take the one thing that I actually _wanted_ him to take from me. But no such luck was found because he was still talking to one of my dad's friends.

Coming from the kitchen, my mother walked into the room to join into the conversation. "I just made some lemonade," she announced. "If anyone wants some just ask."

Groaning, I stood up, trying my best to think of something else to catch Troy's attention. Discreetly, I, for once in my life, purposely tripped over Troy's foot while I "walked" to the bathroom. Falling onto the floor pathetically, I tried my best to actually make myself blush. It used to be so easy! What was happening to me? I swiftly turned around, pulling myself up from my previous position, and hoped he saw the note. "Erm... uh... em..." I stammered lamely.

He looked down at me, "Oh. Uh, sorry."

_SORRY? What the hell does he mean 'sorry'? _I probably shouldn't have tried to make a scene where there were so many witnesses. Even if Troy actually did saw the note that had _To Troy_ in big writing, he probably wouldn't of taken it.

Brushing invisible dust off my pant legs, I smiled sheepishly, catching my mother turn a shade of pink, "Oh, Gabriella! My daughter's such a klutz." She chuckled nervously, "Um, dear, why don't you... serve some refreshments to our guests."

I caught her giving me an irritated glare, so I nodded and walked into the kitchen. I smiled when I saw that the napkins were coincidentally the same size and color as my note. I raced back into the living room grinning madly, feeling somewhat insane, and served each guest a glass of my mother's lemonade, ignoring Troy when he smirked at me.

I gave each person a napkin, saving Troy's for last. But unfortunately, walking at an unusually fast pace, I tripped over my own feet, spilling half of the lemonade onto his lap instead.

I flushed. "I-I'm really sorry Troy!" I said, looking at the wet stain around his thighs.

He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, "Um, it's okay, Gabriella. I can clean it up."

I began to stutter, and he grabbed all of the napkins from my hand. "Wait!"

I watched in failure as he wiped off the lemonade on the hard-wood floor with the rest of the napkins and threw the remains into the nearest waste basket. "There," he said.

I stood there, awestruck and wide-eyed; he technically just _threw away_ my anger in the trash. "Oh, dear..." my mother cut in, "Gabriella, why don't you lend Troy one of your father's old pair of jeans?"

"O-okay."

Leading Troy upstairs, I gave him a random pair of pants and led him to the bathroom. Stopping at the door, he turned around to face me and narrowed his eyes, "You're really pushing it today, Montez," he growled, and closed the door in my face. I stomped into my room and instantly began to cry.

Shaking, I reached for the phone and dialed a familiar number.

_"Hello?"_

"Taylor," I sobbed. "I can't stand it anymore! I-I've tried absolutely everything possible but he won't take the damn piece of paper!"

_"Gabs... What are you talking about? What's wrong?"_

"I wrote hate mail to Troy Bolton."

_"What? Did he read it?"_

"No."

_"Then why are you moping all of a sudden?"_

"Because I _wanted_ him to read it."

There was a long pause on the other line. _"Gabs... are you insane?"_

"Taylor!" I whined.

_"But Gabi! That makes absolutely NO sense! Why the hell would you want that boy to read hate mail coming from __you?"_

I sighed heavily, inhaling through my nose and began a long explanation about "getting pissed off" and "standing up for myself."

"...and seriously! Have you _looked_ at them? His eyes are not 'enticing' at all! They're a _dull_ shade of blue if you ask me!" I could hear Taylor groan on the other side of the phone line.

_"Gabriella, I still don't get what the problem is."_

Closing my eyes, I tried searching for the right words to say, "Tay, it's like you said. I-I want... no... I _need_ to stick up for myself."

"Then why don't you just say it to my face instead of writing it in a stupid letter?"

_Holy shit. _

I froze, and whispered goodbye to Taylor.

Turning around, I looked at a newly clothed Troy, wearing my dad's jeans. He stood calmly, leaning against the doorway with a neutral expression. "Say it Gabriella. If you have something to say to me, go ahead."

I looked down at my feet. "Um..."

I could hear him chuckle softly to himself. "Oh, Gabriella." He stepped closer to me and closed the door behind him. He reached over to touch my arm before I slammed my fist into him.

"Stop it!" I shrieked, punching him in the chest. Of course the impact hadn't affected him as much as I'd liked it to, but his face visibly tensed after I said something. "Stop it! You hurt people! You hurt Taylor! You hurt me! Stop it! Stop!" I was sobbing hysterically. "Stop talking to me like that! What the hell did I _do_ Troy? I don't know what I did to you! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE—"

The back of his hand made a crackling sound as it connected to my cheek. Feeling my knees buckle, I squat down on my rug and burst into tears. Troy was breathing hard, and he looked terrified. "I-I...Gabriella, I didn't mean to hit you...I swear..." He crouched down to my position, "I-I've never wanted to hit you...I'm so so sorry..." He rambled aimlessly, apologizing over and over again, and tried to touch my stinging cheek. I nearly slapped him away, before my mom actually came into the room.

I hadn't noticed she was crying too, until she coughed awkwardly. "Gabi," she hiccuped, "Your dad's not going to make it tonight. He got another call and won't be home for a few more weeks..." Then she left, and I wasn't quite sure if she even noticed Troy in the room.

"Gabs?" Troy looked at me tenderly, and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

I tensed and recoiled hysterically into the corner of my room. I heaved, "Don't. Touch. Me." Then I sprinted out of the house in the direction of Taylor's.

* * *

A week later, my stomach was still in knots and I still had to stop myself from puking whenever Troy looked at me and it wasn't menacing anymore.

Ironically, I spent the last few nights writing and rewriting hate mail to Troy. My pencils and pens were strewn across my rug, and shreds of bitter pieces of paper were carelessly sweeped under my bed in a lame attempt to clean up.

I wanted to talk to him. When he had something to say I didn't, but now I really REALLY wanted to talk to him. I'd never felt so broken before. It was like everything that was already bad worsened.

There was a knock on my balcony door, and in robotic motion, I sighed, opening it. "What is it Troy?"

"You haven't been returning my calls."

I frowned. "You've never called me before in your life. Except that time you needed to copy my math homework."

He sighed. "I talked to Taylor."

"Cool."

"She forgave me after I explained a bunch of stuff to her."

"Gee. How sincere of you."

"She made me rub her feet."

"Awesome."

In a swift motion, he roughly grabbed wrists, pulling me against him. "Would... Would you just listen to me this time?" His eyes were blazing painfully and his fingers were pressing too hard on my skin. "I'm trying to apologize! I've tried for the past week and you won't even look at me anymore! You're being unfair Gabs!"

I think I cracked.

"Stop touching me!" I wriggled away from his grasp, stomping childishly outside. _"Listen?_ Why don't YOU listen, Troy? I can't stand you! I loathe you! Do you know how much emotional crap I had to go through every freaking day because of you? But you still have the right to call _me_ unfair? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE? I honestly think I'm going insane! What the hell have I even done to you?"

"Do you want to know what you did to me Gabriella?" he asked through gritted teeth.

I didn't even get a chance to answer, because his mouth was on mine. He had one hand at my waist and the other at the back of my neck. I felt numb. I didn't know how to react. I didn't know what to think. My hands hung limply at my side, and he pushed his face closer to mine, his mouth parting slightly. Squeezing my eyes shut, I found my arms coiling around his neck as he held onto me tighter. His hot breath was in my mouth and I lost all of my other senses. But then it was gone. And I felt colder after.

"That," he breathed, "is what you've done to me."

I stood there with my mouth swollen and hanging open. I still didn't get it really. It wasn't much of an explanation. An example maybe. But not an explanation.

Straightening his shirt, he cleared his throat before continuing, "You wouldn't talk to me." He breathed, "You never paid attention to me otherwise. I didn't mean to hit you though, seriously. I just...you were screaming and it hurt. A lot...But I'm a jerk and it never was a good idea... and you looked so _pretty_ when you were mad..." Troy coughed in an attempt to cover up his slip, "And, uh... Gabriella?"

"Do you know how much shit you put me through because you were too lame to just _talk_ to me?" I screamed, wanting so hard to slap him.

"I-I..." for once, Troy looked down to his feet while I glared up to him, "I don't know how to answer that..." he spoke softly.

I groaned walking away from my balcony entrance and sat on the far side of my bed, "Oh _fantastic. _Fucking _fantastic_. That makes me feel SO much better, Troy. Thanks. I must mean SO much to you." I sighed, now lying on my back and closed my eyes. "I'm not even worth a stupid 'Hey Gabriella! I've been joking all this time when I've said I hated you'. God, how stupid do you think I am Troy? Would you just give it up?"

"Gabriella..." I could hear him come inside and shut the door behind him.

"I hate you."

I sat up and opened my eyes. The bed sank on the other side, and my breath hitched when his finger tips touched my shoulders. "Well, I love you."

I turned around. My arms were limp, and I felt exhausted. Bringing my hands up to my face, I realized I was crying again. Wet slobs of tears were unattractively sliding down my cheeks. I peeked my blurry eyes to my right where Troy ended up sitting a distance away from me. He looked so embarrassed, and his face was totally flushed. I wanted to reach out to him. Why did he have to look so... _good_ all of a sudden?

He looked up, sliding closer to me again and pursed his lips, "I-I'm so sorry Gabriella... I know I-I'm stupid... and I've acted like a bastard... and you probably deserve better and—and I don't like it when you cry... please, please... Please stop crying Gabriella."

I shuddered reflexively.

"I'm not worth it..." his thumb padded away one of my tears.

"You are so stupid."

"Yeah," he said dryly. "I am."

I laughed, wiping my face. Clutching onto my ribs, I fell on my back. "I was talking to myself."

"Oh," he pursed his lips. "... _What?_"

"I'm so stupid," I repeated lightly, "Why do I feel so much happier?" He jerked his head towards me, and I felt my heart leap.

Hesitantly, he reached out and gently placed his hand on mine. "Does... does this mean you're actually forgiving me?"

I bit my lip thoughtfully. Then brought the back of my hand up and slammed it against his cheek, forming a lovely shade of red.

"Ow." He sighed, rubbing his face, "I deserved that. Okay. But I'll take what I can get."

Nodding, I said softly, "Are you sure you don't hate me?"

He smiled, pulling my up to a seated position and kissing my forehead. "I love you." Troy ran his hand down my arm, looking far off for a moment. "Just, one last thing Gabs." Nervously, he rubbed the back of his neck, "About a few nights ago, when I was listening in on your conversation..."

I tilted my head, confused. "I thought we were done with this—"

"Do you really think my eyes are a dull blue?"

* * *

**AN: Why is it that even through so much editing, this story still seems as realistic as my third arm? Gr...**

**But tell me on a serious note. How do you guys feels about this seemingly better (in my opinion) version? Sickened? Happy? Disappointed? **

**-Ms H  
**


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